He Sees You As A Father
by walkamongstthestars
Summary: In which everyone is out of character, John and Sherlock are overprotective, and I take out my frustrations on Anderson.


In which Sherlock is even a bit more of a child, and incredibly protective.

As Sherlock rattled out a series of deductions about the woman lying dead in front of him, his phone buzzed over and over. Lestrade became impatient, wondering why Sherlock wasn't answering.

"Sherlock, are you going to answer your bloody phone, or not?"

Sherlock stopped mid-word and narrowed his eyes.

"Of course. Once I finish correcting all of your _mistakes_," Sherlock snapped.

"Who is even texting you? You never talk to anyone else."

"John." Sherlock stated, taking a breath to continue with his explanation of the murder, only to be interrupted yet again.

"Wait, who is John?" Lestrade furrowed his brow at Sherlock, Anderson and Donovan turning and squinting at Sherlock in unison.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"_John._ Do keep up," Sherlock stated emphatically.

Lestrade's shoulders fell as he sighed.

"You've never mentioned a John," he said, raising his hands out in front of him and shooting Sherlock a frustrated glare.

"He's my-"

"Don't! Don't say friend. Are you going to say friend? You can't possibly," Donovan interjected. Sherlock blinked at her and snorted.

"For God's sake. He's my boyfriend. Now will you morons let me finish?"

Everyone's eyes widened and their mouths fell open. Sherlock had finally taken his phone out of his coat pocket and had smiled at the screen, thumbing through messages. Everyone was even more taken aback by the smile. He looked up and his smile faded, a confused expression spreading across his face as everyone else stared on.

"Have you all lost what little cognitive function you had?"

They shook their heads, snapping out of it.

"You're joking. You? A _boyfriend_? Are you taking the piss, freak?" Donovan's remark earned her a glare from Lestrade and she recoiled slightly.

"Oh, please, do keep speaking, all of you. You wonderfully amuse me with your brilliance." Sherlock returned to his phone, smiling slightly again after a few seconds. He rapidly tapped out some messages and pocketed it again, looking to Lestrade with a stern glare. "Alright. I replied. Can we finish this?"

Lestrade shook his head in disbelief and motioned for Sherlock to continue.

As they left the crime scene - Sherlock having given them more than enough evidence - Lestrade watched Sherlock get out his phone as he hailed a cab, chuckling at the screen. He watched the cab turn down the street and thought about how Sherlock had acted. How was _Sherlock_ managing a real relationship? Let alone a _friendship_. He honestly couldn't remember the last time Sherlock had smiled that much in _any_ period of time. Whatever this thing was, Lestrade wasn't going to bother it. A happy Sherlock - blimey - was like a twisted dream come true.

Over the following weeks, Sherlock's pattern of waiting until he had solved a case to fire off a slew of texts to John continued, and Lestrade finally asked how long he'd known John and if they were planning to move in together.

"I first spoke to John two months, two weeks and 5 days ago."

"...You remember the date exactly, huh?" Lestrade said, slightly bewildered.

"Of course." Of course. Yeah, of course he did, Lestrade had to concede.

"So, where does this mysterious John hail from?"

"London."

"Well, then, why haven't we met him before?"

Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes.

"He's a doctor. A very busy doctor. We see each other when we can and I'm not about to waste what precious time we get together around _you_ lot."

"A _doctor_?" Lestrade looked at him wide-eyed.

"Yes, that's what I just said. Do I really have to keep repeating myself?"

"Blimey. Does he work at St. Bart's? Would I know him?"

"He's an army doctor. He works at surgery, so no, you probably wouldn't. Judging from your complete lack of understanding, you won't be for quite a while."

"Where does he live then?"

"Leicester Square."

"Oh, that's not very far from your own place. Why haven't one of you moved in with the other, yet?"

Sherlock looked sad for a split second before giving Lestrade a condescending look.

"We're taking it slowly. Isn't that what people do? Build a relationship?"

"Yeah, I suppose. God. You're really doing this, huh? Good on ya, mate."

Sherlock knitted his brow but looked down at his phone again and that now familiar smile crept across his face.

"John, again?" Lestrade nodded to the phone.

"Who else?"

Lestrade smiled. Who else. Sherlock Holmes and Who Else. That was, while strange, a very nice combination, now that Lestrade thought about it.

"Alright, well, you go off and have a nice time, and tell John I said hi... if you want, I mean." Lestrade hesitated slightly. "I'll let you know when another case comes."

Sherlock's mouth quirked and he glanced up at him with a nod and turned on his heels, stalking off as his fingers flew over the buttons on his phone.

A couple of days later Lestrade needed to call Sherlock in again.

He rang him up and it rang three times before Sherlock answered, unusual given Sherlock's normally prompt response.

"Sherlock Holmes- oh, stop-" Lestrade heard a voice in the background, and... laughing. _Laughing_. Sherlock was... _giggling_. What in the name?

"Um… have I… caught you at a bad time?" Lestrade brought his phone back to his ear after staring at it for a moment to make sure he had dialed the proper Sherlock Holmes. As if there could be another.

"No, I jus- hey-" Lestrade heard the voice again and a clattering, and then a few moments later Sherlock's voice returned. "What is it, Lestrade?"

Lestrade furrowed his brow and replied. "We've got two dead bodies by the pier. They've got dozens of puncture wounds, and it looks like all the blood was drained from the bodies. That good enough for you?"

The other line was quiet for a moment and then, "Yes-" he heard the voice in the background, "who is it?" and then Sherlock's again, "It's just Greg, no, don't-" and another fit of giggles and the second voice, "oh, tell him I say hi!"

At this point Lestrade was grimacing and holding the phone away from his ear again, listening to giggles and some sort of interaction. Dear Lord.

Sherlock came back to the receiver. "I'll be there in twenty minutes-" and the second voice right before he hung up, "aw, you didn't-" and then the line cut off. Lestrade stood where he was staring at his phone and rubbing his hand through his hair. _Giggling_. Who would...

_Oh_.

John.

Lestrade suddenly felt a bit ill.

As Sherlock had said, he arrived on scene twenty minutes later. With a shorter, blonder man trailing after him.

Lestrade blinked.

"Lestrade." Sherlock said hurriedly as he made his way to the bodies. Lestrade held a finger out to him and was about to say something as Sherlock brushed by, but was stopped by the shorter man coming up to him, smiling slightly.

Lestrade's glance flitted between Sherlock and the shorter man until it settled on the other man.

"I...are you... John?"

Maybe-John smiled at him wider, putting his hand out, and Lestrade took it and shook it slightly. "Doctor John Watson, yes. I assume you're Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade?"

"...Yes..." Lestrade eyed him over suspiciously. He was, as he had already observed, shorter, his hair somewhat sandy blond with a tinge of grey, a more rounded face than Sherlock's. His frame, though compact and wider than Sherlock, definitely held strength and muscle, even under the numerous layers of cardigans. Who on earth was this strange man?

John's smile faded slightly and he raised his eyebrows. "Something wrong?"

Lestrade snapped out of his daze and opened and closed his mouth. He shook his head. "Sorry. Sorry, I'm being very rude. I just-" he licked his lips and waved his hand in the air. "You're...here."

John laughed.

"Yes, that I am. You told Sherlock there were bodies. It's his bat signal, isn't it?" John grinned at him.

"Were you... with him? When I called?"

John seemed to blush a little. But he kept smiling. "Hah, yes. Sorry about that. We don't normally get to see each other on Mondays. Busy day back at surgery and whatnot. He did tell you where I work, right?"

Suddenly they heard Sherlock's voice boom across the dock. "John, come here!"

John looked between him and Lestrade. Lestrade just pursed his lips and blinked some more.

"May I...?" John gestured toward the scene of the crime.

Lestrade just nodded and waved him on. John thanked him quickly and joined Sherlock.

Lestrade followed and heard Sherlock explaining something about the width of a needle to John, who nodded.

A technician came up to Lestrade and pointed at John. "Should I give him gloves?"

Lestrade looked over at him. "What? Oh, yes." He was still somewhat dazed by it all. He was watching as John put on a pair of gloves and knelt over the body with Sherlock, the both of them poking away at the wounds and murmuring to each other.

Anderson came up behind Lestrade.

"What the- who is this?" He said with disgust. Or was that just his usual voice?

"John." Lestrade said, still watching the couple working out what had happened to the victims.

"_John_?" Anderson said incredulously. "As in, the supposed boyfriend, John?"

"Yes, quiet." Lestrade was trying to listen but Sherlock and John were speaking to each other lowly and muttering to themselves.

Anderson looked bewildered at Lestrade.

"Oh, this is rich. I'm gonna be sick. Bloody poofs..." Anderson tossed down his gear and made a face.

Lestrade looked up at him just as Sherlock turned and glared at Anderson.

"Oh, Anderson. How lovely of you to make an appearance. But, John here has it sorted, you're of no use. Much like usual." Sherlock sneered at him.

"Oi, you can't bring your bleedin' boyfriend to a crime scene!"

John turned around and looked at Lestrade guiltily.

"No, it's alright, Anderson, he's fine." Lestrade shot him a glare and Anderson muttered out a swear.

"I can- should I go?" John looked between the three other men. Sherlock shook his head and stared Anderson down.

He stood and walked over to Anderson.

"I suppose I must introduce you. This is _Doctor_ John Watson. My boyfriend. Yes, oh, wipe that look off your face, Anderson. It does you no favors. John is a doctor, and thus he can examine the corpse. You are not needed. Right, Lestrade?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow in Lestrade's direction.

Anderson recoiled slightly and shot Lestrade a disbelieving look. Lestrade simply rubbed his temple. "It's fine, Sherlock. He can stay. Anderson, I'll call you over when Sherlock and John are done here."

Anderson looked outraged but he walked away. Sherlock turned back to John and the bodies, and knelt down again. Lestrade crossed his arms across his chest.

Once Sherlock had explained that the murders had been committed by a botox specialist and, that, really, this was not incredibly interesting at all, but really quite simple - though aided by the fact that John actually knew something Sherlock didn't, which was that the kind of needle used to extract the blood would not be found in surgery because it was far too wide - Lestrade brought Anderson back and they started to bag up the bodies. Lestrade saw John and Sherlock standing off to the side from the corner of his eyes, Sherlock looking determinidly ahead while not-so-subtly lacing his fingers through John's. When Sherlock thought no one was looking, he placed a hand on the small of John's back and whispered something in his ear, eliciting a chuckle from John. Sherlock then placed a chaste peck on John's cheek and smiled, pulling away as Lestrade turned to them.

Lestrade hesitated and Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at him, John wearing a satisfied but polite look.

"You can go home, now, you two. We've got what we need. Thank you, you were both very helpful. John, it was good to meet you," he nodded again and John's lip curled up slightly, nodding back.

"Do let me know when you actually get a challenging case, Lestrade. Come along, John." He pulled John by the hand and they walked off together. Lestrade sighed and shook his head. This was going to be interesting.

The next time Lestrade called Sherlock out to a crime scene, John wasn't with him.

"John at work, then?" Lestrade said and Sherlock nodded, muttering about John joining them later. This case was slightly more intricate than the last, and Sherlock kept dragging his magnifying lens across the body and furrowing his brow.

About a half an hour after Sherlock had arrived at the scene, and had kept telling people to be quiet or turn around in a frustrated tone as he failed to come up with any major deductions, John came into the room. They were in an abandoned flat much like the one the Pink Lady had been found in.

"Ah, John," Sherlock beckoned to him, his coat billowing out as he rushed over to where John was. John looked a bit surprised at first but allowed Sherlock to drag him over to the body. They conferred for a while, Lestrade watching in stunned silence. Within just a few moments, Sherlock stood up and laughed.

"Oh, yes, of course! How could I have missed that? Thank you, John, you are truly a conductor of light. Lestrade, you'll find that she has a brother who poisoned her by coating her cat's fur in cyanide." He grinned at him.

Lestrade looked at Sherlock with a confused expression.

"Cyanide- I - Sherlock-"

Sherlock was already grabbing John by the hand and leading him out when Anderson came through the door.

"Oh, for God's sake, not you two woofters again. This is getting ridiculous. Sherlock was bloody enough already; how can you let two of them in, Lestrade?"

Sherlock and John stopped in their tracks and Lestrade opened his mouth to tell Anderson to stuff it and move on, but he closed his mouth again when the small army doctor stepped up to Anderson.

"Sorry, but I don't think we were properly introduced before. Captain John Watson, army doctor of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. I've heard a great deal about you." John put his hand out with a knowing expression. Anderson looked down at the hand and blinked.

Sherlock made as though he was going to pull John away, gritting his teeth and swearing at Anderson, but John continued.

"Oh, my apologies. I guess you wouldn't want to shake the hand of a, what was the word you used? Woofter, yes? Ah, well, you win some, you lose some. That's what I fought for, right? Your right to feel what you feel. It's all fine."

Lestrade and Sherlock, _Sherlock_, gaped at John. Anderson recoiled slightly.

John withdrew his hand and smiled at Anderson.

"You-" Anderson cleared his throat slightly. "You fought in the war?"

"Mm, oh yes," John nodded, glancing off to the side, his hands clasped behind his back now. He nodded to his left and said, "Fought being the operative word. Got bloody well shot in the shoulder, the buggers. Funnily enough, I came out of it with a limp. Sherlock here helped me overcome it, proving it was psychosomatic. Bloody clever git always has to be right, doesn't he?" John smiled at his partner, who was looking at him with a whole new expression now.

Anderson looked a bit pale.

"So, I guess all I'm trying to say, Mister Anderson, is that this woofter owes a lot to Sherlock Holmes. I only wish you could see how good of a man he is. But as I said; you win some, you lose some. I will say I'm quite enjoying these crime scenes, yes, indeed." He looked around thoughtfully. "Working at surgery only cures one's boredom for so long, doesn't it? Well. Working with Sherlock certainly keeps us all busy, doesn't it?" Another sideways grin toward Sherlock. "Why don't you get us a cab, Sherlock? I just want to make sure Lestrade knows something about the cyanide. I'll be right along." Sherlock was oddly obliging, a ... glitter... in his eyes. Sherlock Holmes was bloody giving another man dreamy eyes. Dear God in Heaven. Sherlock smiled slightly and nodded, his expression going somewhat stoney as he looked between Anderson and Lestrade before planting a kiss on John's lips, a smirk finally settling on his face as he turned and strode off. John smiled after him, sighing.

He turned back to Anderson and Lestrade.

Their faces could've resembled that of someone who had just seen simultaneously the most ghastly and sickening thing in the world.

John clenched his jaw and glared at them both.

"Look," John started with a low voice. "I've only known Sherlock for about three months now. I've known you both for less than a day. I know it's not really my place to..." he licked his lips and huffed, "make _judgments_." Lestrade winced slightly."But, you know, it's simply amazing. What that man can do. He deduced so much about me in the first five minutes we met." John looked down a bit and smiled to himself, as though he was remembering. He shook his head slightly and chuckled. "Being honest with myself, I fell in love with him the first time he smiled at me after telling me - _telling_ me- I had a psychosomatic limp and to fire my therapist. That ridiculous man knew better than anyone. Better not tell him that one, though," he winked at them and laughed again, "doesn't need much of an ego boost, does he?" Then his smile faded and he looked stern again. "Except, he does. He... you ought to appreciate him, you know? 'Cause he's so unique, so brilliant. You ought to see the world through his eyes and... well. I suppose none of this is very new to you both." Lestrade and Anderson continued gaping at him. "You know, Detective, he sees you as a father figure." He turned to Lestrade and gave him a disappointed look.

Lestrade closed his mouth and raised his brow.

"Oh, yes, see. His own father... he wasn't a good man. Nothing like Sherlock. He hurt a lot of people. He left Sherlock and his brother when they were just boys. Imagine," John shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment. He reopened them and looked up at Lestrade with something so... strong in his eyes. So passionate. "I know Sherlock's got an odd way of showing it, but he cares for you. He told me everything, you know. I still find it hard to believe, but he just, told me about what you did for him. He was so grateful. He said you saved him." He clasped his hands behind his back again and stood up straight. Lestrade looked ready to throw up.

"He acts the way he does because it's all he knows. The Holmes family is a troubled family. I just... well, I hope you consider that, the next time you-" John sighed. "The next time you treat him badly. Say what you want to me. You can call me names and beat me down. But just, please, keep it minimal. I expect any insults that have to do with me would be rather more harmful. So if you must, stick with something about him being a damned smug bastard, how about?" John said with narrowed eyes and a smile that was hard to read.

Anderson stared at him with utter surprise etched on his face. Lestrade swallowed.

"John, I-" he stumbled a bit over his words. "I'm sorry. I know it's- he's a remarkable man, he really is. We shouldn't have-" Lestrade grimaced and licked his lips. "If I'd have known..." he carded a hand through his hair. John nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah. I know." John turned to Anderson, now.

He smiled slightly. "He told me in passing about you. I didn't quite believe him. He brushed it aside but he said about you always giving him trouble. If anyone should, I should know by now that he can be difficult. And I'm sorry that he is, but," John shrugged. "At least you could refrain from the derogatory terms, maybe? I mean," John raised his eyebrows briefly and kept smiling, "I'm not going to call you mentally retarded, so perhaps you could cut out the woofter shit, yeah? Oh, yeah, I know, couple of blokes in a relationship, whoo scary," John shook his hands a little in the air and made a sarcastic face. He puffed out some air through his nose. "But, while you were over here throwing insults at a couple of people for being in love, those people you were insulting were solving a crime to capture a murderer. I'm just saying-" John drew his lips down smugly and raised his hands alternately in the air like scales, "which one seems more important to you?" His facial and body expressions melted to that of a stoic man. "I don't think I'm asking for much, Mister Anderson." John continued staring at him.

Yeah, Anderson definitely mimicked Lestrade in the looking-like-he-was-going-to-vomit department.

"I-" Anderson swallowed and looked between Lestrade and John with horror.

"Anderson, just bloody apologize to the man, for God's sake." Lestrade shook his head.

Anderson looked at nothing in particular as the blood drained out of his face.

"I'm... I'm sorry." Anderson looked at John with actual guilt. "I'm sorry."

John looked between them with a smile.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

He patted them both on the shoulders.

"Also, I can kill you with my bare hands in five different ways. Good day." John turned and headed out the doorway, leaving Lestrade and Anderson to shoot frantic glares at each other.

A few cases later, Scotland Yard found themselves roping off the scene of a crime, ambulances sitting with their lights flashing brightly, as John and Sherlock sat with blankets over their shoulders.

Lestrade walked over to them, noticing that Sherlock had an arm wrapped around John.

"You boys alright, then?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"No thanks to you."

Lestrade looked annoyed. "You didn't have to rush ahead of us."

"John nearly got killed-"

"No, it's alright, Sherlock. We got him, that's what matters. We're fine, Lestrade."

"Aside from the bullet that nearly hit you," Sherlock said with disdain.

"Yeah, nearly being the operative word, Sherlock. It barely grazed me."

"Still."

John smiled a bit and shook his head. Lestrade gulped.

"You're alright, that's what matters. Thanks, guys. If the medic is done seeing to that arm, you can go home." Lestrade glanced at the bandage wrapped around John's arm. It really was only a graze, but it cut the skin a bit and needed to be dressed.

Lestrade turned to go but Sherlock stood, John reaching out for him and calling his name to come back. But the taller man simply walked after Lestrade.

"Lestrade," Sherlock seized the other man by the arm and pulled him around. Lestrade raised his eyebrows at him.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"You need better men on call. If John wasn't such a good shot and you hadn't made it here right when you did-"

"Sherlock, easy, I'm confident you two can handle yourselves."

"I'll not have John in danger."

"Oh, really? Then why are you bringing him along?"

Sherlock stared at him a moment through blazing eyes.

"He's much more capable than all of your men could ever hope to be." Sherlock sneered and looked away, shoving his hands in his coat pocket.

"Sherlock, look, I'm sorry about what happened. But John is-"

"John is perfectly capable of fighting off a ruthless killer and saving your daft arse," John interjected after coming up behind them and standing with his arms crossed.

"John, I was just telling Lestrade -"

John shook his head at him and gave him a look.

"Sherlock, calm down. It was close, yes, but not as close as it could've been." He reached out a hand and grasped Sherlock's hand with it.

"Let's just go home, alright?"

Lestrade watched as Sherlock sighed and nodded briefly, his gaze flickering to Lestrade before he turned and walked off, John bidding Lestrade good night.

They walked along the road for a bit, and Lestrade was about to turn around when he saw them stop. Curious, he looked on. Sherlock was looking at the ground while John rubbed his arm and spoke to him. Sherlock nodded, listening for a minute before he looked up at John and cupped his face in his hand. Sherlock said something to John that made John smile in a certain way, and John wrapped one around around Sherlock's shoulder and the other around his waist, holding him for a moment. They broke away and John tilted his head up to kiss Sherlock softly. Lestrade started to feel a bit embarrassed as the kiss lasted a while, and ended with Sherlock's hands on John's arse. Lestrade glanced away for a moment and looked back as the two men untangled themselves and held hands again as they continued walking down the street. Sherlock Holmes and Who Else, indeed


End file.
